Green Thumb
by candy4yourEYEZ
Summary: Lovino is a gardener with a temper as hot as the summer sun. Antonio is a lawyer who finds Lovino as delicious as the food he grows. Will a community garden make the two grow closer together, or will love's flower be cut down before it has a chance?


The first thing Antonio Fernandez-Carriedo did when he moved to his new posh suburb in the Midwest was head directly to the community garden plots. They had been one of the deciding factors when he had finally gotten around to finding his own place (he'd been staying in his cousin's apartment, and they hadn't gotten along most of them time).

He had enough money to buy a house (being a lawyer who specialized in divorce settlements was extremely lucrative), and because Antonio knew he'd find his special someone and end up with kids someday, he ended up taking a multi-floor Victorian monstrosity off of the hands of another one of the Spaniard's numerous relatives. It was a short walk away from what Antonio viewed as heaven on earth; a large park, complete with baseball diamond, basketball and tennis courts, a playground, and –most importantly- the available plots of land that he had almost salivated over.

Antonio had grown up on a tomato farm, and had always fancied himself an amateur gardener. The promise of public plots where he could create an Eden all his own was extremely tempting, which leads us back to the opening of this tale- Antonio's journey to the garden plots.

He had arranged to meet with the woman who oversaw them, and was pleasantly surprised to find an attractive blonde who introduced herself as "Bella, just Bella."

"As you can see," she chattered, leading Antonio down the concrete path next to the rows of sunflowers, dahlias, pumpkins, beans and other vegetation, "we have a wide variety of plants here, because we have a wide variety of gardeners. Everyone knows where the boundaries of their plot are, and they're subsequently marked off with that blue fencing." Bella motioned to the blue wire fencing that cut the large area of land into multiple rectangles.

"Whose is that?" Antonio gaped at what was by far the largest rectangle of them all; a riot of colorful flowers, twisting vines, and stalks ripe with produce.

"That, my friend, is the plot of the one and only Mr. Lovino Vargas." Bella grinned and patted Antonio on the shoulder. "He's the rudest son of a bitch you'll ever meet, but he has one hell of a green thumb."

"Why is his plot so large?" Antonio queried, gently shrugging off the hand that lingered on his shoulder.

Bella pouted but continued explaining. "It was originally his idea to turn the unused space into community plots; I ended up overseeing it because he's too cranky to deal with people in general. It takes a rare person to get anything more than profanity out of Mr. Vargas."

Antonio gazed at the plot longingly, hoping that he'd be able to convince this Mr. Vargas to give him some advice. Antonio pictured a crotchety old man- and couldn't be further from the truth. But he didn't know that yet.

* * *

><p>Antonio strolled down to the park again; he'd finally gotten all of his belongings into his new house, but didn't feel like unpacking just yet. The majority of his mind was telling him to take another look at the gorgeous garden, and he couldn't help but acquiesce.<p>

Antonio stood at the edge of Mr. Vargas' domain and tucked his hands in the pockets of his knee length khaki shorts, surveying the area with a long, drawn out whistle. Emerald eyes registered their astonishment as a lean, shirtless figure seemed to emerge from the forest of sunflowers.

"What the hell do you want?" He yelled at Antonio. He walked closer when Antonio didn't answer, and the Spaniard was treated to a very nice view of the mystery man's abs. Antonio concentrated on keeping the drool in his mouth rather than responding, and incurred a scowl from the angry gardener. "Which one are you?" He spat, wiping a muddy hand across his forehead and leaving a trail of dirt.

"Huh?" Antonio replied intelligently, concentrating more on the tousled chestnut hair and beautifully tanned skin than the question.

"Well, you're either a pervert, an asshole, or a moron. Which one are you?" Antonio noticed that his new acquaintance was clad only in a pair of green basketball shorts, and that they were hanging delightfully low on his hips.

"What defines each category?" Antonio's lawyer mouth answered before he could come up with a flirtatious remark- but, judging by the deepening of the other gardener's scowl, he'd at least bought himself another few minutes of conversation. Either that or a trowel up his ass.

"Fine, I'll explain it for the new neighborhood idiot." Lovino ran a hand through his already tousled hair, rumpling it in a way that made him look like he'd walked straight out of the bedroom after more than a few rounds of raunchy sex. At that moment, Antonio could think of nothing better than to be the person that said raunchy sex was with. "You're a pervert if you're ogling me- which it looks like you are. So, you're obviously a fucking weirdo. You're an asshole if you think that you're better than me because of your designer shit shorts and your fucking rich boy polo shirt and the fact that I'm covered in dirt and sweating like a real man in 90 degree weather rather than staring at random people like a pervert. Which, may I remind you, you are. So, whether or not you're an asshole remains to be determined. But you are most definitely a fucking moron if you think for one goddamn second that I'll help you with anything in this garden. I saw you talking to Bella yesterday, and if you think you're getting tips from me then you can fuck the hell off." At the end of that rant, the man that Antonio was quickly pegging as Lovino Vargas shot Antonio a scornful look and spat in the dirt of his plot. "So, bastard, which one is it?"

"Then by your definitions I'm a pervert and a moron- but not an asshole." Antonio shot Lovino a blinding smile, only to have it acknowledged with a scoff, a barely perceptible blush rising on already sunburnt cheeks, and a quick turn on mud encrusted heels as Lovino headed back into the rows of plants.

"Wait!" Antonio called after Lovino, wavering between getting his new shoes filthy or continuing a shouted conversation through the fencing.

"What the fuck is it, pervert slash moron?" Lovino bent down to pick a tomato- and _no,_ Antonio did _not_ let a drop of drool escape his mouth at the unblocked view of one very nice rear end with which he was presented.

"When will I see you again?" Antonio felt his breath catch like the little girl Gilbert always insisted he was when Lovino bent back up and stared straight at him.

"If I have it my way, never." Lovino hefted the tomato –ripe and luscious and _stop assuming things, _because Antonio was most definitely not thinking overly sexualized thoughts about a fruit masquerading as a vegetable- and whipped it at Antonio.

Antonio jumped back as the tomato splattered against the fencing in the exact area his face had been previously, but looked back up with a grin on his face as he heard a snort of laughter from Lovino, presumably at the pulp splashed across Antonio's lower jaw –the Spaniard was gifted with the reflexes of a matador, but the tomato had hit the fencing with such force that it had exploded like the actual version of Gilbert's Halo 3 hand grenade belt buckle.

Always one to seize an opportunity when it presented itself; Antonio ran a finger through the paste, making sure to keep eye contact with Lovino, and slowly brought his finger up to his mouth, sucking the fruit off with half lidded eyes- bedroom eyes, even though Antonio hadn't found anyone he'd like for more than a one night stand in a long time.

Lovino turned redder than the recently deceased produce and practically ran into the comforting shadows of the giant flowers, leaving Antonio smirking like the conquistador the Spaniard used to pretend he was (He had been a damn good one, too- Antonio had conquered all the territory from the kitchen table to the door of his older brother's room in the span of an afternoon, at the tender age of 5).

"I'll be back tomorrow!" Antonio decided it was time to make his own dramatic exit, and strolled back to the sidewalk, sensitive ears catching the heartfelt _bastardo_ emanating from the direction of the garden plot of a certain Italian. "I'll _definitely _ be back tomorrow."

* * *

><p>Authoress' Random Ramble<p>

I have a bad habit of starting stories, don't I?

Will most likely be continued. Probably. Depends on how many people still like me after CMOYP ends XD

less than three, less than three


End file.
